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THE  LIBRARY 
OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 


GIFT  OF 


Mrs.  Vernon  DeMars 


PRAYER 


BY  CHARLES  KELLOGG 
FIELD  ::  WITH  A  FORE 
WORD  BYDAVID  STARR 
JORDAN 


THE  BOOK  CLUB  OF 
CALIFORNIA  ::  IO2I 


Phi  Beta  Kappa  poem,  Stanford  University, 
October  13th,  1906. 


GIFT 


FOREWORD 

This  exquisite  poem  tells  the  story  of  a  crisis  of 
feeling  in  the  poet's  own  career.  It  touches  the 
experience  of  thousands  of  sincere  and  thought 
ful  youths  who  in  their  studies  reach  what  seems 
to  be  the  parting  of  the  ways.  The  University 
deals  with  affual  truth,  with  the  Universe  as  it 
is,  not  with  opinion  however  plausible  or  tradi 
tion  however  venerable. ( ( The  winds  of  freedom" 
blow  on  its  heights;  whatever  is  not  fastened 
on  the ( ( solid  ground  of  Nature  "is  swept  away. 
The  student  finds  that  much  he  has  revered  as 
faith  is  only  the  debris  of  his  grandfather's 
science. 

First  of  many  problems  is  that  of  the  meaning 
of  prayer.  Is  it  true  that  by  faith  he  can  move 


532 


mountains,  wring  rain  from  the  steel-blue  sky, 
or  make  one  hair  black  or  white  ?  Or  are  its 
functions  that  of  a  boat  at  its  moorings,  in  which 
he  may  draw  himself  to  the  shore,  the  shore  re 
maining  immovable?  Or  must  he  merely  turn 
away  as  from  another  of  "the  faded  fancies  of 
an  elder  world?" 

In  this  condition  of  bewilderment  our  poet 
while  a  student  at  Stanford  University  met  a 
young  man— old  in  the  path  of  wisdom— Dr. 
Wilbur  Wilson  Thoburn,  a  professor  of  Zoology. 
Whether  prayer  would  or  would  not  change  one 
atom  in  the  physical  universe  did  not  concern 
Thoburn.  His  conception  like  that  of  Jesus  was 
that  prayer  is  an  individual  act,  to  be  per 
formed  in  one's  own  closet,  for  the  time  being 
his  temple.  Prayer  he  interpreted  in  terms  of 
life,  the  expression  of  some  noble  purpose.  If  our 
prayer  aims  to  realize  hope  in  action,  it  will  be 
answered.  Prayer  is  not  a  plea  to  change  the 


world  about  us,  but  our  own  resolve  to  concen- 
secrate  ourselves  to  our  loftiest  duty  in  the  affairs 
oflife. 

Wisdom  is  knowing  'what  one  ought  to  do 
next;  virtue,  doing  it;  religion,  our  conception 
of  the  reason  'why  right  action  is  better  than 
'wrong,  and  prayer,  the  core  of  our  endeavor. 


((Ah  ivell-a-day,  uoh at  evil  looks 

Had  I  from  old  and  young; 
Instead  of  the  Cross  the  albatross 

About  my  neck  was  hung; .  .  . 
I  looked  to  Heaven  and  tried  to  pray, 

But  or  ever  a  prayer  hadgusht, 
A  wicked  whisper  came  and  made 

My  heart  as  dry  as  dust. " 


There  is  a  season  of  high-hearted  song, 

The  weal  glory  of  the  greening  spring, 
When  life  stirs  up  through  music,  pulsing  strong 

Toward  the  hushed  wonder  of  its  blossoming; 
No  meditation  softens  this  clear  tone 

That  rings  with  newly -wakened  consciousness; 
The  tingling  upward  impulse  asks  alone 

Expression,  and  the  song  is  purposeless 
Save  that  perhaps  some  thrill  of  mystery 

Lies  at  the  roots  of  life,  an  unguessed  hour 
Felt  in  the  lifting  leaves,  a  prophecy 

Locked  in  the  promise  of  the  folded  flower. 
As  yet  along  the  stalks  the  tender  green 

That  the  fond  roots  first  ushered  to  the  light 
Remains,  although  an  urgency  unseen 

Compels  division  to  release  the  slight 


Brave  color  of  the  buds  that  must  have  way; 
And  where  the  new  leaves  spread  old  leaves 
appear, 

Caught  in  the  stalks' uprising  where  they  lay- 
Dead  straws  that  linger  from  the  parent  year. 

Over  the  hills  the  free  'winds  blow, 
The  lithe  stalks  bend  and  the  old 

leaves  go, 
And  the  young  plants  shiver  a  little 

as  though 
They  miss  the  touch  they  are  wont 

to  know, 
And  a  sense,  somehow,  of  loss  and 

wrong 
Bears  heavily  at  the  heart  of  song. 


Who  knows  the  number  (I  remember  one) 

To  whose  glad  youth  the  Springtime  has  up  he  Id 
Her  green  and  silver  mirror  in  the  sun, 

How  many  musings  it  has  paralleled 
When  thought  intruded  on  the  wordless  joy 

The  field-lark  set  to  music;  I  have  known 
How  in  new  leaves  and  wind- swept  straws  a  boy 

May  see  reflected  his  dear  faith  outgrown. 
For  who  shall  measure  what  minutest  change 

Can  stiffen  stem  and  bud  or  harden  thought 
From  tender  trust  to  question,  and  estrange 

Old  leaf  and  new }  home  and  the  youth  it  taught? 
Chance  breeze,  chance  word —what  grows  that 
may  escape  it? 

Light  breeze  orwind,  light  word  or  argument, 
Men's  faith  is  as  environment  shall  shape  it, 

Trees  are  but  twigs  continuously  bent. 
Thus  it  has  been  that  simple  faith  in  prayer, 


Taking  the  open  road,  was  blown  away 
By  winds  of  freedom,  taken  unaware 
In  shining  weather  and  the  mind  swept  bare 

Of  confidence  and  any  will  to  pray. 
So  many  hands  there  are  to  rend 

The  masonry  of  faith  apart! 
Books  unexplored,  some  rare  new  friend 
Whose  trust  already  has  had  end, 

Who  cannot  find  it  in  his  heart 
To  beg  of  what  he  cannot  see, 
To  dare  inform  Infinity; 
So  many  hands  destructive,  and  so  few 
To  rear  upon  the  ruined  heap  a  new 
Abiding  comfort!  All  too  long  remain 
The  fragments,  never  wholly  set  again; 
The  winds  of  doubting  blow  the  dust 
Of  the  old  comfortable  trust 
Whereto  there  stretches  no  return 
Save  only  as  the  mind  may  learn 
Some  satisfaction  to  discern. 


To  such  a  mind  a  voice  may  reach, 
In  class-time  or  some  graver  day, 

Whose  calm  authority  of  speech 

Shall  fill  an  eager  ear  and  teach 
A  troubled  spirit  how  to  pray; 

A  voice  like  one — this  much  we  know: 

It  sank  in  silence  years  ago 

When  he  'was  put  from  sight  and  sound 

Beneath  the  still  sequestered  ground 

Where  sweeps,  as  in  a  long  caress, 

The  pepper-branches'  tenderness — 

So  much  we  know,  howe'er  we  guess! 

Voice  unf or  gotten!  once  your  message  came 
Set  in  a  quiet  sentence;  others  heard 
Doubtless  no  more  than  word  trail  after  word 
Along  the  dry  course  of  the  droning  hour 
As  in  a  drowsy  shower 


Drop  follows  drop  along  the  window-frame; 

Yet  one  heart  there  was  stirred 

As  by  its  name 

Called  suddenly  at  night,  aflame 

Leaped  up  with  power 

Upon  the  instant  to  illume 

Its  path 's  impenetrable  gloom. 

\ 

Your  words  were  like  the  ocean's  utterance 

Whose  deep  illimitable  swell 
Has  uuaked  a  haughty  assonance 

Within  the  hollow  of  a  shell, 
An  echo  yearning  to  set  free 
Its  understanding  of  the  sea 
And  able  only  to  impart 
A  hint  of  what  is  in  its  heart. 


"Prayer,  if  it  be  such  deep  desire 

For  good  that  it  shall  realize 
Its  hope  in  action,  may  aspire 

To  answer  and  not  otherwise. " 
So  spoke  the  voice,  and  prayer  became 
A  force,  no  more  an  emptied  name  ! 
And  over  Faith 's  inverted  cup 
A  gleaming  Grail  was  lifted  up. 
No  mere  petition  could  express 
That  inward  prayer  for  righteousness, 
Nor  any  supplicating  word 
Voice  the  diviner  speech  unheard; 
For  life  itself  was  made  the  only  prayer 

And  life  itself  the  only  answer  gained; 
Unlimited  the  soul's  expression  there, 

Unlimited  the  heart's  desire  attained! 
The  eager  stem  shall  find  its  hour 
Of  answer  in  the  opened  flower 


And  the  flower's  rapt  unfolding  lead 
To  rich  fulfilment  in  the  seed; 
Man's  self-dependent  will  to  be 
In  tune  with  God's  high  harmony, 
Right  thinking  ever  turned  to  act, 
Shall  make  unceasing  prayer  a  fact 
And  prayer,  thus  answered,  shall  allow 
A  larger  faith  and  teach  it  how 
To  find  its  heaven  here  and  now! 


f  That  self-same  moment  I  could  pray 
And  from  my  neck  so  free 

The  albatross  fell  off  and  sank 
Like  lead  into  the  sea. " 


Three  hundred  and  thirty  copies  printed 
by  Edwin  and  Robert  Grabhornfor  The 
Book  Club  of  California  in  May,  1921. 
This  is  copy  number  $ 


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